Before You Post

I feel that I'm a pretty patient person when it comes to dealing with people's foolishness. Maybe during certain times of my life, I find myself being a bit more ... difficult than other times. But overall, I'm pretty reasonable.

But I have my "hot spots." Those spots where, if touched, I lose my mind and get all kinds of aggravated and dramatic. There aren't many. But there are some. And I'm about to describe one of those hot spots.

If you, in your eagerness to post some controversial stuff, or in your sweet disposition feel posting the latest news on measles is the least you could do for your fellow Americans, forget to research what you are about to post -- We (you and I) are going to have problems remaining friends. Because when I find out that the nonsense you posted is total and complete bullshit, and that you just wasted valuable minutes of my life because I had to do the research your ass should have done before you posted about it, and THEN when I tell you that what you posted is bullshit and you refuse to take it off your time line without any explanation or clue that it is bullshit, thus continuing the spread of the false information ...

*takes big breath*

I'm going to delete your ass. I can't have stupid friends like you.

Just last night, I ran across a post on a "friend's" timeline about the ever terrifying illness Ebola. Now, I'm older than a few decades. I've been around for the real conspiracies regarding illnesses. And what I wasn't personally alive for, I know people who were -- and have heard from them. Yes, we had a government that covered up some serious shit. We had some people who were injected with diseases just to see what would happen. By the government. And let's not forget the cover up and mislabeling of AIDS in the 80's. And then, not so long ago, there was that whole thing with women losing their uterus and ability to carry children when our government dumped toxic waste in the middle of "nowhere" without telling residents in the area that they were being poisoned. And of course most of the people affected were minority women -- migrant workers and the like. So yes. We have a government that covers up shit. A lot of shit. But if you run across an article (ONE ARTICLE) that says there is an outbreak of Ebola in a city near you -- and there has been NOTHING on any of the other websites like, I don't know, MSNBC or CNN or nothing reported on any news station. Then you need to, for the sake of world peace, look into it. You have to. It's your duty. And when your misinformed ass decides to overlook the fact that this article came off of a website that has in it's description a disclaimer (A DISCLAIMER) that says that it's satirical and that nothing should be taken seriously and that names are made up except for with celebrities or sports figures, um ... then you really should listen to me (or anyone with a brain) when they say your article about the latest outbreak is bullshit.

But you don't. You leave that mess up on your timeline. You don't even acknowledge to your other friends or people who might come across the damn article that it's a farce. That it's satire. That it's false. You'd have your friends in a large metropolitan area freaking out. Running around scared. Using their time that they could have been using for something productive -- worrying about shit that they don't have to even worry about. Not to mention the number of calls generated to health officials, taking away time that they could be spending really dealing with this issue (and other issues that are far more pressing!)

I don't even think I can adequately put into words how much I can not stand people that spread around gossip bullshit on facebook or twitter or wherever. Not to mention my complete disdain for this website that thinks it's funny to spread a story around like it's a joke. It's not something to joke about.

I look up everything. Before I post anything on my page I look things up. Before I comment on something that has anything to do with real life problems or issues, I look shit up. I hate the thought of being made a fool of, so in the event I post something and someone tells me that I've just posted some bullshit, I'm taking it down. ESPECIALLY if it's spreading something harmful to a large group of people. People who are already scared. People who are already misinformed. Do you know what happens with a bunch of misinformed and scared people? Do you care?

So, I can't be your friend if you post nonsense like this. Mistakes happen. In our humanness we sometimes make mistakes. We like drama. Controversy. And as much as some of us hate to be scared or worried or angry, we sure gravitate towards things that make us feel all of these things. I'm guilty too. But I can't have it on my page anymore. I have to limit the bullshit I have and spread. And if you don't care about the truth and accuracy -- then ...

Unfriend.

Are You Coming Back?

When I was almost twenty-four years old, I got on a plane and headed to California. Just like that. I don't think I thought about it for more than a few days. It was something I felt I just needed to do. So, my Minnesota behind boarded a plane and landed in Sunny California. Or rather, what would have been Sunny California if it hadn't been in the middle of the night. My Auntie and Uncle and four-year-old cousin came to the Airport and picked me up. The first thing I noticed when I got out of the airport was the smog. And then the palm trees. I thought they were just movie props. And then we got on the freeway and headed "home."

The first night away from everything familiar (and I was not one of those kids who loved being home. I left every chance I got!) and it hit me. I was away from everything familiar. I was starting over. And there, next to my cousin, in a full size bed -- far away from the lakes and the mosquitoes and star filled nights and long summer days and fall leaves and the smell of spring when the snow just starts to melt, I started to sob. There was this finality to it. I knew, deep down in my heart, that I wasn't going to come back.

Ok. So, let me make things clear for everyone who is reading this (as well as J.S. who is probably thinking "oh hell no. You will go home, woman!"):  I am planning on coming back to California.

This is what we are calling a long test run. I'll go for a month. See if we kill each other (we won't), See if I will be able to stand Omaha (It's just a town to me right now, I have no idea what it's about), check out the job markets and look at the schools and sort of have a vacation while meeting the rest of Jay's family.  But I know that feeling. I had it when I got on the plane to come to California.

When I moved to California I was moving from a small one bedroom apartment that I solidified into a room at my then best friend Michelle's apartment. There were books and childhood things that I packed into boxes and had a friend of mine ship for a very good deal through his job that I shall not name in order to protect his not so innocent but willing to do anything for a good friend ass. It was strange sitting in a strange town with boxes of your life surrounding you. But those things kept me from feeling... lost.

Still, I was homesick. I had no intention of going back. But I was homesick. There is comfort in familiar.

So yes. I'm coming back. This time. But this trip is ... everything. It's the beginning of the shape of things without knowing what that shape might be.

My friends here are the ones who are reminding me of just how big of a deal it is -- this trip. I don't want to sound all deep and dark. It's not a sad thing. It's a big thing. There is a difference. It's an exciting big thing. That sounds pornographic. It's ... significant. And saying goodbye (for now) doesn't make me sad to the point that I'll change my mind. It makes me sad that I'm going to miss them, but that there is something so much better waiting for me. It makes me sad that I can't have both and that, given the choice, I would always choose her.

It's that feeling I had when I came to California way back in 1992: "I'll miss all of you. But I can give you up," my heart said.

It's saying that same thing now. For a much different reason, but the ending is the same. I can leave here for her. Not without effort, not without tears and feeling a bit homesick. But I can leave here. For her. For us.  

It is so fucking worth it.

On the Twelfth Day...

I know it's been forever since I've written. It's not that I don't have things to write about (or muse about. or bitch about. or laugh about...,) it's that I have so much on my mind that it's sometimes hard to squeeze it all into a topic I can write about in five or six paragraphs.

Since I can't sleep, I decided to just ... babble.

I'll be leaving for Omaha in twelve days. Janelle lives there in case you're wondering what the hell I'm doing moving to Omaha. And I'm not moving to Omaha YET. I'm just ... visiting Omaha. Trying it on for size. Seeing how we fit together. Omaha, I mean. Maybe Janelle, too. But mostly Omaha.

If you've caught Janelle's blog, you probably have heard that while Janelle and I have pretty much accepted the fact that we will be together indefinitely, there are certain things we haven't done yet. I'm pretty sure she mentioned that. Didn't she? Last few blogs, probably? Anyway... yeah. Ok, so this is the scoop on all of that.

When you're in a long distance relationship, there is this weird dichotomy. Part of you knows your girlfriend better than you know yourself. I know that in a few hours, she's going to wake up because she has to use the bathroom at the same time every morning. She'll message me in about five hours asking me if I am awake, and those texts will continue every hour (which really shows great restraint as I know she'd probably text me every five minutes because she has the patience of a fruit fly...as do I) until I wake up. I know when she's about to ask me what I'm doing. I know that as soon as I answer a question she asks me, she'll tell me "never mind, Babe" because she will have already found the answer on her own. I joke about us being an old married couple but I really believe that there's a large part of us that is. And it's cute. So I know her. I know what she's thinking a lot of times, and I also know that we can sit on the phone having conversations while neither of us talks. But it's more than all that cliche canned stuff. I know her. And I breathe with her even when I can't feel the rise and fall of her chest.

So while we know one another mentally, we still don't know each other all that well physically. We're still awkward for the first few hours -- matching what we have learned about one another with the actual physical being of the person we have come to know. It's strangely beautiful and scary as hell all at the same time. When we were in Minnesota, it took until the time she left (well, maybe a few days before) until I knew I knew her. Until the physical know of her matched up with the mental know of her. If that makes any sense. We were together for eleven days. This time we will be together for thirty something. In Minnesota we had eleven days where we were physically together many hours. This time I'll be physically getting to know her at the same time I'm physically getting to know a city. And she'll be working. It's likely that we may never be physical during the entire trip. I wish I could say "just kidding" after that statement.

Nope. Still not saying it.

We'll be fine. I'm not really all that worried. But it is interesting. And it does take a certain amount of patience and understanding because this whole Long Distance Relationship for over -- what? six months now? - is challenging. It's not at all easy. Very much worth it. But not at all easy. And I thought I'd be honest about it because it might help someone else who is insane enough to be in a long distance relationship. Some of the best art happens by a insane artist's hand. I'm just sayin'. ;)

All this trepidation aside, this is the happiest I've been in a long time. It's not just the Janelle Cupcake factor, it's moving towards something I want and need in my life. It's the starting on a new journey with someone who gets me, wants me, and loves me. It's taking a leap forward -- not knowing where I'll land, but knowing I'll be fine when I do.

Ready, set, go!

Sex doesn't equal love

Yesterday, I worked on the page Lesbian Love and Advice. I love working the page when there is discussion, and last night there was plenty of it. I asked a question about sex in the morning. I think my words were something like:

 "I don't understand how people can have sex in the morning -- bad breath, sleep in their eyes, needing to get to work but wanting to go back to sleep once you're finished..." and I received a response that still has me thinking.

The response I got was  (paraphrased):

Sex is about love and touch, hearing, smelling, tasting...it's not about all the things that you said. If it is, you shouldn't be having sex with that person anyway. Because sex is about love and you shouldn't have sex with someone you don't love.

Or something like that.

I had to count to ten a few times before I responded. I told the young woman that she had taken my question out of context, and immediately wished I had some of my regulars around to stand up for me (lol!) I know that sometimes I might come off as ... as... serious maybe? But my friends and those who get my vibe generally know when I'm saying things sarcastically and when I'm not taking myself seriously at all. Tongue in cheek -- that's the phrase I was looking for. I say a whole lot of things tongue in cheek. I write about deep things sometimes and I like to think I'm philosophical, but anyone who knows me in real life knows that I joke around a lot more than I'm serious. This post was one of those times.

Sure, I generally wonder about people who have sex in the morning. I wonder when the morning breath no longer bothers you. I wonder when you get use to being seen in the mornings and knowing your partner thinks you're beautiful. But it is more than appearance, I'm not at my best in the morning and I'm sleep and groggy and generally a little grumpy until I get oriented.

But if I can go back to the statement about sex being about love. Um... no. Sex does not mean love.
It's not all butterflies and rainbows and sweet smelling lavender drifting up to envelope you. Sex is sometimes just about getting off. And when you want to get off or fuck, you don't want to look at a bunch of sleep boogers in your partner's eyes. Ruins the whole affect, don't you think. ;)  Sex isn't about acceptance at all. It's about getting pleasure and delivering enough pleasure to your partner (maybe) so they can respond accordingly. Sex is fun. And carefree. And drama free. Sex is like babysitting a cute toddler. You know eventually the parent is going to come back and relieve you of your duties. You don't have to pay for college. You don't have to clean up vomit or deal with too much poop. Sex is easy and fast and usually delicious. It's the fairy tale. Any negativity that comes into sex ruins it faster than a child's temper tantrum ruins a person's dream of being a parent. You don't want reality when you have sex most of the time. Reality kills the vibe. Which is why people hate condoms. If you have to stop for a moment and put one on, all of a sudden you are thinking about diseases or the prevention of a disease or pregnancy. Mood ruined.

Making love is different. Making love is what happens when you know about the unflattering poses and the funny faces and you don't even mind. Making love means sex in the morning with boogers in the eyes and bad breath. Making love sees beyond all of the imperfections or changes the imperfections into (sing it with me) perfect imperfections. Because you have history and love as a foundation and not lust as one.

Sex doesn't equal love.

At least not always.

LDR -- Missing Her.

When preparing for questions for the Single's Page several months ago, I remember coming across an article on Long Distance Relationships. There were several helpful suggestions, things I had long since understood. But there was something about missing that sticks out in my mind. The author of the article said that you should never, ever, ever, under any circumstances spend a lot of time talking about how much you miss each other. She said when that happens, the relationship is pretty much doomed to fail.

I'm trying really hard not to talk to her about missing her. Especially since I'll be visiting her shortly.

But maybe this blog is the safe zone and I can let it all out in here. At least just for today, when it feels like "soon" will take forever to get here.

I miss Janelle. I miss her in ways that talking on the phone, laughing on the phone, typing to one another, and all the other things we do every day to stay connected don't even touch. Sometimes it's hard to breathe. And I don't want to tell her, because I don't want to bum her out because I know she misses me just as much. And also -- the article.  The article says that when that's all you can talk about (missing each other) that your relationship is over.

We talk about a lot of other things. It's not just gloom and doom. But I'm sincerely over the distance. I'm over not being with her and not starting a life together. I'm over not physically being with her, too -- like just holding hands and feeling the weight of her arm on my body. And I want to kiss her. Like REALLY kiss her. And then there are other things, too. I won't go into detail. But man. It sucks.

Maybe tomorrow I'll write about something else.

But for tonight that's all my heart can manage.

My Girlfriend Has a Best Friend...

My girlfriend has a best friend, and it's not me. Her name is Stacy, and she's known her forever. Well, not technically "forever" but they have a history. I'm only going to speak about the best friend component of their relationship or this blog will get too long. *grin* But Janelle told me about Stacy from the very beginning. And I knew that she was her best friend. And I was jealous.

Duh.

I mean, when a girl tells you she loves you, and then tells you that she also has a best friend that she also loves and that there is no way that you will be the best friend, you're going to have some sort of feelings about it, right?

The longer I live the more I realize that we have feelings that are authentic, and then we have those feelings we feel we are suppose to have. Women feel that we are suppose to be worried about other women because they are competition. We feel like we're supposed to feel jealous and so we do. But if you sit with your feelings long enough you realize that there's something else that is there under the surface, and usually it's just a bit of insecurity. As soon as you address that insecurity, you're fine. And so, that is what I did. I asked questions. And I listened. And I set aside the emotional part of me for a minute and looked at things logically. And then I decided I was going to love Stacy almost as much as Janelle did. Because if it hadn't been for Stacy, Janelle and I would not have made it "here."

We are told that our partner is suppose to be our best friend. "I tell my partner everything." "We have no secrets." "We are thick as thieves." Etc. Etc. and so on. Let me tell you something: My mother and my father have been married for 55 years. All you need to do is spend ten minutes with my parents to realize there ain't no way on God's green earth that my parents are best friends. My dad has a best friend. And my mother has two best friends. And those best friends hear all about my parent's idiosyncrasies. They hear all about how crazy each of them are: how my father only takes his ADD medication when he's doing something important and then bounces off walls and acts all forgetful when he's with my mother. And that my mother compulsively cleans the kitchen counter tops and cares too much about the little things like how the curtains hang and if the seams are showing. And their best friends pat them on the shoulder or give them hugs and then tell them how crazy their own spouses are and they have a drink or two. And then sometime in the evening one of the best friend's reminds my parent that they are freaking out over something that really doesn't matter in the long haul. And then my parents come home and are sweeties again and resign themselves to being married for another year or two.

I use to have a diary. I remember in one of my relationships, I kept my diary in the trunk of my car (should have been a hint) because I lived with my boyfriend at the time (another hint) and I knew he would read my diary if I left it out in the open. After a trip to the store one day, Kevin found my diary and proceeded to read it. He came up to my apartment, my diary in hand, and proceeded to ask me questions about everything that I had written. Why was I worried about our relationship (duh)? Why did I feel he didn't listen? Did I really feel that way about his smoking? Why did I say he made my skin crawl? Were the things I wrote in my diary true? Hell yeah they were. Were they an expression of how I felt most of the time? I didn't believe so. But writing it all out and venting about it helped me gather my thoughts and make sense of things. THAT is what a best friend is. And if your spouse is your best friend, who then will be your diary? Who is that person you can say anything to and who will not have their feelings be hurt or take things out of context or get all defensive or even tell you when you're being out of line and that you need to take a moment? 

I don't believe Janelle needs to be my best friend. She is my friend and my partner and my lover and the cupcake of my life. Her attention span for my "venting" is about 2 days shorter than that of my best friend. And there isn't anything wrong with that. My best friend is not vested in the relationship the same way that Janelle is. She can offer solutions and advice that Janelle never will be able to offer because Janelle is too close to the subject at hand. And that best friend allows for us to have the intimacy that we have -- not void of the discussions that couples should have, but void of the extra stuff that happens when we just need to vent for a moment. Janelle can and does tell me everything. And I can and do tell her everything. Almost. But Janelle can not tell me about myself the way that she can vent to her best friend about me. And she needs to have that outlet. Just like I need the outlet.

I want the time that we have together to be more than best friend level. She's my best companion. It will be a gift if I can be the same for her.

My Coming Out Story (Basically)

I wrote about this on my facebook page, but I figured since Jay's post is about Bisexuality, I should probably write my story. There are sure to be questions.

So, I was born in 1967 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin one spring morning in April.

I'll fast forward.

I never dated in high school. It was a combination of being the only black girl in a small school and also a bit of childhood history that included quite a bit of abuse. We won't get into all of that except to say this: there is certain abuse that when experienced as a kid can kind of screw up your whole conception of what sex and attraction mean.

Continuing on.

When I got to college, I dated men. And, throughout my life, I had what I perceived to be "healthy" relationships with men. I never had any "feelings" about men except the feeling that I enjoyed being wanted and I thought it was pretty much my duty to please men (well, anyone, really) and so I did what I had been trained since the age of seven to do.

I don't talk much about my abuse with Jay because I know that it would upset her. She has met my family, and there are many things that have been resolved, and I hate the thought of her having to go through the kind of pain one goes through when they hear of a loved one being hurt to the extent I was. It's not pretty. It wasn't pretty. But it's over now.

Moving on.

So I grew up thinking I had a job to do. I didn't check in with myself, and I grew up to be someone who was very disconnected from her body. I was in some really horrible relationships. I stayed when I should have left. I put up with shit that no one should really put up with. Looking back, I think punished myself for having had some of the experiences I had. I think I went on to abuse myself and picked up where my perpetrators had left off.

There was one moment when I knew that I was attracted to women. I felt things that I had never felt about a man -- felt attraction towards a woman that I had never felt towards a man. I thought this must mean, not that I was a Lesbian, but that I was simply Bisexual. And I went on believing I was for at least a year. It was easier. No matter how much shit I heard about how Bisexuals were nasty and diseased ridden and cheaters and blah blah blah, I thought that's what I was. There was no way I wanted to think of my past with men as something I did on auto pilot. Something that I did out of habit -- out of some obligation. That my "feelings" I felt were nothing. Just some fun house mirror where everything you see in the reflection is distorted.

But there you have it. I don't find men attractive beyond "pretty." I never think about the things I want to do with men, never have. I don't fantasize about men. Don't get fluttery or goofy or nervous. And so, at the age of 45 and a half, I realized I wasn't bisexual at all. I was really, quite simply, a Lesbian.

Now imagine my disgust I had realizing that I fit every "stereotype" of bisexuality that I had ever read about. Here I was saying I was just momentarily "confused" and that I said "Bisexual" until I had it figured out. And what about all the work I had done previously to bring Bisexuality out of the closet and bring some respect to the orientation? Would people think I deserted them? Would I be termed a fraud? What about the relationships I had with men -- some of them "nice" and not too terribly bad. What about that? Would they be referred to as just a "phase" I had gone through?

There is only one answer I can give to all those nagging questions: I can't worry about it. I can only be my authentic and true self and stop, once and for all, worrying about pleasing other people. Just can't do it anymore.

I do believe that Bisexuality is a legitimate thing. I believe there are people who do love someone based on who they are and not by what is (or isn't) hanging between their legs. I could never be someone to disregard what was between the legs. I am not attracted to men in that way -- and that isn't something that has happened or occurred because of my abuse, even though I am an incest survivor. I believe that my attraction, my comfort zone, my spirit is drawn to women and always has been. The abuse didn't make it happen, the abuse just confused me for years --- made the answer hard for me to see.

So there is my coming out story. Complex, but it's all basically there. I hope that in reading my story, people are more gentle with one another and allow for different stories and different experiences. We don't all have it so easy to just know in a linear kind of way who and what we are. We need to allow time for people to figure things out -- know that we all have our different experiences, our different ghosts to come to terms with. And those of us who are older and just "coming out", we need to remind ourselves to be gentle and patient with ourselves. Don't be so quick to label yourself. Know that it takes time to settle and for the repressed you to know it is safe to come out. You have time. We'll wait for you with open arms.